“Linda stepped out of the taxi at West Fifty-Fifth Street and Tenth Avenue and looked skyward toward Tania’s apartment. The living room lights were blazing in the corner unit on the eighteenth floor of the luxury high-rise. Tania was waiting.
Entering the building, Linda nodded at the doorman and walked through the modern lobby to the bank of elevators at the other end, her high heels clicking on the marble floor. She pushed the up button and waited, fighting back waves of nervous nausea. Why had she agreed to do this, damn it? The elevator doors slid open, and she stepped inside and pushed the button for Tania’s floor. How easy would it be to just walk out of the building and go home? It really wasn’t an option, though, not if she wanted to stay in Tania’s good graces. The elevator glided upward.
Linda got out on the 18th floor and walked haltingly down the sterile hallway toward Tania’s apartment. Even before she could ring the buzzer, the door flew open. Tania stood in the doorway. Her brown eyes shone with excitement behind her dark-rimmed glasses.
For days, Linda had been listening to Tania talk about her new therapist and an intense form of treatment she was undergoing for posttraumatic stress called “flooding.” She had told Linda about a recording she’d made with her therapist, reliving all she had gone through on that terrible morning, and about her homework assignment, to listen to the recordings until her fears began to fade. She had tried a few times to listen alone, Tania said, but it was too scary. The therapist then suggested she recruit someone she trusted to be with her during the exercise. She had chosen Linda…”
Read the rest of the excerpt from THE WOMAN WHO WASN’T THERE here.